| |
DAYS LATER, TUESDAY, April 21, 1970
Nine years as an Army spy had prepared Gertie to face most any foe. Soviet spy posing as a traveler across Southeast Asia? Check. Army Colonel turned traitor selling troop information to the North Vietnamese? That one was easy. But spend an evening with a man her mother was trying to set her up with? That was one mission she was totally unprepared for. Swallowing a grenade would have been an easier task.
Of all the men in South Louisiana, her mother managed to pick one who looked like Simon, the smarty-pants Chipmunk. He sat next to her on her parents’ sofa and droned on. “Now, some people have asked me, ‘Hey, Gill, what’s it like being a scatologist?’ You know what I tell them? ‘It’s a lot of work. In fact, it poops me out.’” He slapped his knee and chuckled, his glasses slipping further down his nose with every guffaw.
Sensing that Gertie failed to share in his humor, he shifted his slight frame on the sofa and cleared his throat. “But, seriously, analyzing animal scat is a big deal. You can tell a lot about migratory patterns of animals by analyzing their droppings. Of course, most people can’t tell their bear scat from their deer scat. Deer scat is more like pellets, with a slight dimple on one end and a point at the other, in case you were wondering.”
She wasn’t. In fact, she began to feel herself slipping away. Psychologists would call it the fight-or-flight response, and she was definitely choosing to flee.
“You’re not falling asleep on me there, are you, Gertie?”
Her eyelids shot up as he rapped his knuckles on her knee. “No, no. Dimply poop. Fascinating.” She yawned.
“You look a little ‘pooped’ yourself,” he said, chuckling again.
“Well, my friends and I just got back from Vietnam this afternoon, so I’m not used to the time difference.” Lie. She, Ida Belle and Marge had left Vietnam about a month ago. They’d spent three weeks in Washington being debriefed by government intelligence officials, before spending a week in New Orleans, shopping for civilian clothes and getting reacclimated before heading home to Sinful. Her mother had wasted no time in trying to fix her up, inviting the bachelor son of a friend to dinner.
“Your mother tells me you were a secretary to a captain in the Army,” Gill said. “I bet you’re eager to settle down to domesticity.”
I was a spy, you boob! she wanted to blurt out. The problem with having had a top-secret job in intelligence meant she had to keep her mouth shut about it, pretending to have typed her days away, while a drone like Gill got to brag about his up-close and personal with bear crap.
The enemy, also known as her mother, popped her head around the doorway to the kitchen. “You two kids up for some homemade cookies?” She slithered into the living room carrying a plate of pecan bars.
Gill tapped his stomach. “Oh, Mrs. Hebert, I’m afraid I’m stuffed from that wonderful casserole of yours.”
“You can thank Gertie for the recipe. She created that dish before she left for the Army. Next to me, she’s the finest cook in Sinful. She’ll make a fine wife and mother someday.” Mom shifted her attention to Gertie. “Aren’t you glad I invited Gill to dinner? Did he tell you about his job with the Game and Fish Department? What do you think about that, huh?” Her mom’s eyes widened as if Gill had discovered gold in that thar poop.
Gertie shot her mom daggers. “Oh, I think you can guess how I feel about it.”
“Gill has two weeks’ vacation and a pension plan.” Mom’s eyes were begging her to marry him on the spot.
A knock on the door brought a merciful end to the stare down. Gertie leapt up from the sofa. “I’ll get it.”
Please be Ida Belle and Marge, she whispered to herself. Relief flooded over her as she flung the door open to find them standing at her door. Ida Belle had her back turned toward her, waving to two men in a car with a giant hot dog sitting on the top. It took her a moment to recognize one of America’s national treasures.
“Is that the Wienermobile?” Gertie stepped outside and shut the door behind her.
Marge nodded. “Mama’s futile attempt at setting Ida Belle and me up. The Martin twins. They’re part of the Wienerfleet now.”
Ida Belle turned back to Gertie. “They’re a bit full of themselves, but their ride is nice. They dropped us off on their way to an event in Lafayette.” Ida Belle pulled a wiener whistle from the pocket of her bell bottoms and blew into it, then handed it to Gertie. “They said to give this to you.”
Gertie cradled the plastic whistle in her hand and looked longingly at the hot dog on wheels as the Martin brothers peeled away from the curb. “You got to ride in the Wienermobile?” Gertie could feel her face fall. When she was a kid, she’d see those commercials on TV with the Wienermobile traveling the country and wished one would stop in Sinful so she could ride in it. She slugged Ida Belle. “And you didn’t call me?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll ride in it,” Marge said, grinning. “They said we could borrow it anytime.”
“No they didn’t,” Ida Belle said.
Marge cocked her head. “Yes they did. I said, ‘Hey, maybe we could borrow it sometime.’ They said, ‘Oh sure, anytime’ and then they laughed hysterically. But they said it. Everyone at the table was a witness. Just in case I decide to ‘borrow’ it sometime.” Marge winked.
Ida Belle’s lip quivered as she tried to suppress a smile. “I heard you had a special guest as well for dinner tonight.”
Gertie rolled her eyes and sighed. She opened the door and stepped inside, planting a wide, phony smile on her face. Marge and Ida Belle filed in after her. “Why look, it’s my fellow Army gals, Ida Belle and Marge. This is Gill Girard. He analyzes animal droppings for a living.” Gertie cast a stern look toward Marge, who screwed up her face to keep in a laugh. She turned back to Gill and yawned. “I hope you don’t mind, but we have some girl stuff to discuss.”
Gill stood from the sofa. “Oh, I should be getting back to Lake Charles anyway. I have an early day tomorrow. I need to collect some possum samples before the sun dries them out.”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t want that stuff all dried out.” Gertie rushed to him and hooked her arm through his, escorting him to the door and nudging him over the threshold. “You have a nice drive home.”
Gertie shut the door.
“Gertie!” her mother said. “That was plain rude.”
“Not as rude as ruining my first dinner back from Vietnam by talking about bear poop. Even Granny couldn’t take it and snuck out to go play Canasta.”
“Your daddy and I thought it was very educational.” Mom sighed. “I’m just trying to help you transition back to civilian life. It’s been a while since you’ve been part of the dating scene.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “Mama, there were plenty of men around in Vietnam. Honestly, you act like we all went off to a convent.”
Marge grabbed a pecan bar from Mrs. Hebert’s plate. “That’s right, Gertie dated plenty.”
“And then some,” Ida Belle said under her breath as she removed a cookie from the plate as well.
Apparently, Beatrice Hebert’s hearing hadn’t diminished over the years like her taste in men had. Her eyebrows shot upward. “Gertie!” Mom was a big believer in I do before and then some. “I should ground you!”
“I’m almost thirty, Mama!”
Mom folded her arms. “And I’m still your mother. It’s a mother’s job to help guide her daughter.” She eyed Marge’s cutoffs that showed way more thigh than was typical within the city limits, then gazed at Ida Belle’s floral bell bottoms and Gertie’s tie-dyed slacks that stretched tightly around her butt and flared out at the bottom. “Honestly. Hot pants? Bell bottoms? And I don’t know what the heck you call those obscene things you’re wearing.”
“Hip huggers,” Gertie said proudly. And she was very proud of them, indeed. They were the newest thing in women’s fashion. If her mama thought Gertie was returning to that square, frumpy girl of old, she had another thing coming.
Mom shook her head. “Your privates ought to be kept private.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my pants,” Gertie said. “They’re what’s in style.”
“For hippies, maybe. This is Sinful. We are God-fearing people, not Mary Ann smoking hippies!”
Gertie sighed. “It’s called Mary Jane.”
Mrs. Hebert’s face fell. “Dear lord, you know the real name for it. I think I need to consult with the man upstairs about this.” She turned and shot into the kitchen.
“I haven’t smoked it, Mama!” Gertie called out after her. “But you’re gonna drive me to it if you try to fix me up with any more men who look like cartoon characters! The least you could have done was try to set me up with someone who looked like GI Joe and not a know-it-all chipmunk!”
“She’s going to go blab to your dad?” Marge asked.
Gertie shook her head. “She was referring to Jesus.”
“I think Jesus is pretty wise to your dating life,” Ida Belle said, licking the cookie crumbs from her fingers.
“And then some,” Marge said.
They headed up the stairs. “My mom’s driving me crazy,” Gertie said. “I’ve been back less than a day and she’s trying to plan my life. You should see the clothes she sewed for me and left in my closet. Plaid Bermuda shorts that go to my knees!”
Marge shook her head. “It was bad enough my mom tried to set me up, but I can’t believe she tried to marry off Ida Belle as well.”
Gertie nodded. “Especially since Walter’s already claimed her.”
Ida Belle shot her head toward Gertie. “What?”
“Claimed?” Marge said. “I can’t believe that word came out of your mouth.”
Ida Belle opened her mouth to speak, but Gertie cut her off. “You’re right. One day around my mama has me going back to the Stone Age. I meant, they’re an item.”
Ida Belle held her hand up. “Excuse me. I’m right here. And Walter hasn’t claimed me, and we are not an item. And I see that look between you two, but we’re just friends, that’s all. Besides, he’s been out of the Marines and back home for six months. I’m sure he’s been dating lots of women.”
“Does he know we’re home?”
Ida Belle nodded. “He had to travel to Baton Rouge on some kind of business thing, but we plan on having dinner together when he gets back in a couple of days.”
“He told her he had a big surprise he wanted to show her,” Marge added. “I think it’s an engagement ring.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “He knows better than that. I’ve had that conversation with him. I’m not the marrying kind.” Though she tried to hide it, Gertie couldn’t help noticing her friend’s eyes light up when she talked about him. She could deny her feelings for Walter all she wanted, but the eyes never lied.
“And your dad?” Gertie asked. “When are you going to see him?”
Ida Belle frowned. “I haven’t decided yet.” She never tried to hide her feelings about her dad. Their relationship had been strained ever since her mother died when she was in first grade. Her dad had wanted a boy and never let her forget it. Every time the three came home on leave, Ida Belle would stay with Marge’s or Gertie’s families, sometimes with Marge’s Aunt Louanne. If it ever bothered her father, he never let her know.
They came to Gertie’s room. She stopped and placed her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, prepare yourselves. Mama did a little redecorating.”
Gertie pushed open the door and heard audible gasps from her two friends.
Ida Belle snickered as she took in the room. “Holy crap.”
It was as if they’d stepped back in time. Posters of teen heart throbs of the fifties lined the walls. A poodle skirt hung like a museum piece. Stuffed animals were poised on the bed.
Gertie nodded sadly. “Uh, huh. Mama thought it would be fun to take all my old mementos out of storage and torture me with them. She calls it, ‘Gertie through the ages.’”
Marge walked over to the posters and examined them. “Is this Fabian?”
Gertie grunted an affirmation.
Marge shook her head as she looked at another poster, which was plastered with lipstick imprints. “I forgot how much you liked Roy Rogers.”
Ida Belle picked up a doll from a shelf. “Is this your old Betsy Wetsy?”
Gertie nodded sadly. “Be careful with that.”
Ida Belle held the baby doll away from her body, a huge wet spot appearing on her blouse. “Damn thing peed on me!”
Gertie rushed over and took Betsy from her, shoving it back on the shelf. “Mama made sure she was filled with water before I got home. Thought I’d get a kick out of it. I didn’t.”
Marge collapsed on the bed, her body convulsing in laughter.
“I’m so glad you find this funny, Marge,” she said, kicking the side of the bed.
Marge sat upright and wiped tears from her eyes. “You’re right, it’s not funny.” She glanced over at the wet spot on Ida Belle’s blouse. Her body shook as she held in the laughter.
Ida Belle sighed. “This is not a former spy’s bedroom.”
Gertie plopped down on the bed next to Marge. “Mama has me back in her clutches. Pretty soon we’ll be spending our Sunday nights together on the sofa watching Lawrence Welk, wearing matching plaid Bermuda shorts and singing along to that commercial with the dancing pickle. And we’ll be planning my wedding to a man who analyzes poop for a living.”
“Well, lucky for you we’re not planning on living in Sinful,” Ida Belle said. “Besides, Marge and I are your best friends. We won’t let that happen.”
Gertie hoped so. Their plans were to wait it out for three months in Sinful before moving to New Orleans, where a year’s lease on a three-bedroom house would become available, compliments of a retired intelligence officer who’d been one of their superiors. There, Gertie would complete her degree to become a teacher, and Ida Belle and Marge could take the few remaining courses they needed to receive their college diplomas.
They were eager for the big-city life, where women were living more liberated lives and could be what they wanted to be. Ida Belle was right. After being spies in Vietnam, nobody was going to hold them back, certainly not Gertie’s mother or backward, small-town thinking. And having a bigger dating pool wouldn’t be bad, either. When it came to sexy men, New Orleans was the place to be. But could she last three months? In the same town as her mother? A dry town at that?
“What did your mom say when you told her you were leaving in three months?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie cringed and suddenly that casserole her mother had served was rebelling in her stomach.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Marge said.
“I tried.” In that she opened her mouth to say it at the dinner table, then pictured her mother wailing in grief, so promptly asked for biscuits instead.
“You’re going to have to tell her sometime.”
“I will. But maybe it’s best if I’m not living here when I tell her. Knowing her, she’d ground me. And knowing me, I’d obey. Tell me we have a line on a short-term rental.”
Ida Belle’s baby blues lit up. “In fact, there are two available. A two-bedroom and a three-bedroom. We have an appointment tomorrow to go look at the three-bedroom.”
Marge got up from the bed. “One problem, though. Ellie and Paul Corbett are also looking at the three-bedroom. And they’re willing to rent for a longer stretch than us.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. They were the newlyweds. “It’s not fair! They’ll get preferential treatment because they’re married. They don’t need three bedrooms, but if they want it, they’ll get it!”
“Not necessarily,” Marge said. “Aunt Louanne called today and said she was going to stop by tonight and talk to Wade Guillory. He’s the property manager and will be there getting it ready to show. She said she’s going to throw in an incentive to tip the scales toward us.”
Gertie smiled. Marge’s Aunt Louanne had been a spy during World War II. As a civilian contractor, she’d trained Gertie, Ida Belle and Marge when they’d enlisted in 1961. But one thing Gertie knew about spies. They never really retire. Louanne had the goods on Guillory and wouldn’t hesitate to use it. That three-bedroom was as good as theirs.